


brown eyes

by theotpeffect



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Horror, M/M, Possession, possessed!Marco, priest!Jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28678218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theotpeffect/pseuds/theotpeffect
Summary: Jean is a priest and a lonely man, Marco, accused of witchcraft needs his help. When their research is interrupted by a demon, Jean must exorcise Marco and finally tell Marco how he feels about him.
Relationships: Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15
Collections: JeanMarco Gift Exchange 2020





	brown eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LunaticaGothica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaticaGothica/gifts).



> I'm thinking of putting a second part! The story is a lot shorter than I wanted it to be, but I think a second part will definitely help it out! I really hope you enjoy this! Happy holidays!

Between the explosion of furniture and walls, Jean held his breath in the deafening silence that followed. The cursed papers were surrounding him. He could not even shift his weight--if he did, they would crinkle and then it would be over. His ragged breathing was already putting him in jeopardy. He feared if he took his hands from their vice-grip around his mouth he would be caught.

The thing hunting him felt only a hairsbreadth away. It felt as if its breath were against his neck. He could almost hear the words it had spoken to him, just after it had taken Marco from his body.

_“He wanted this. You know that, right? He wanted to kill them. But most of all, he wanted to kill you.”_

Closing his eyes tight, he dared to whimper. _Marco._

His heart pounded to the sound of the footsteps thundering in his direction. He ran.

Without daring to look behind him, he leaped over the splintered remains of a bookshelf and reached for the front door. If he stumbled now…

At the very last moment, his foot caught on a smashed floorboard that jutted into the air. He practically flew into the door and with a quick twist of the knob, he tumbled onto his front porch and into the biting night air.

He scrabbled for purchase on the dilapidated boards. Splinters broke off into his hands in his desperate struggle to stand upright. Papers blew out around him as they were sucked into the cold. For just a second, he could see the page that had set Marco on his dark path mere minutes before.

 _There was legend of a great demon,_ it said, _that had split itself into nine. Each piece of him picked a host for an era to plague with pestilence, murder, and disasters of every kind imaginable._

Marco, who had been shifting uncomfortably for hours, had then stood bolt upright.

“I feel a bit faint, suddenly,” he confessed. “But let’s not stop. There’s a reason I was accused of witchcraft and there _must_ be a reason everyone I loved was taken from me.”

He had then sat, shakily. His already pale skin was sheet white and riddled with drops of sweat, as if he had been running endlessly through the cobbled streets of Germany.

Jean knew this would be hard for Marco, but he was still blindsided when Marco fell out of his chair with the scream of a man just stabbed. Jean leaped to his feet but by then it was over. Marco got up, as if nothing happened. Marco got up, as if nothing happened. But Jean knew, as soon as Marco’s pitch black eyes fixed on him, that that was no longer the man he fell in love with.

And he was right.

His front door burst into splinters. Shrapnel skittered on the street behind him.

He tried not to look back. The church seemed miles away but his home was only across the street. He could see it, from the slouching stone stairs, to the near black wooden slats that made its body. He took its front steps two at a time and tried not to remember the other time he had been running from Marco.

That had been a happier time, only a month ago, before they had descended into their frantic studies. They had been in a field on the outskirts of town. That afternoon had been filled with laughter and when the sun was low, they had fallen on top of each other, their breaths intermingled. Jean had pulled away, but how he wished he had closed the distance.

Now, he slammed the church doors closed. Now, he bolted the door and hoped he would not be followed as he threw himself backward.

The doors rattled in their hinges, bulging past the threshold. With a gasp, Jean scrabbled backwards, kicking frantically in a desperate attempt to launch himself away. Then, a board burst in and Jean could see a clawed hand reach inside. As it gripped another board to rip away, Jean turned on his hands and knees and crawled past the pews and to the lectern.

When he stood with a Bible in hand, he saw Marco taking shaky steps forward.

“Marco,” Jean said. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, really, he only knew he wanted the man he loved back.

Marco did not reply. Instead, the demon possessing him yelled.

Another step forward and Jean was flipping through the Bible, looking for a passage. He had never done this before, but he at least knew the basics of an exorcism.

When he found the passage, he started reading. It brought Marco to a dead stop. He did not walk or even breath as long as Jean read. Slowly, Jean approached him. With each word he spoke, Jean tried not to let his voice go shaky and frantic, like he so wanted to. He could almost feel the words he was praying crawl up his throat and wait on his tongue as he approached Marco.

Marco was crying now and slowly collapsing onto the floor. Jean, foolishly, crouched next to him. As soon as his hand touched Marco’s back, Marco burst forward and wrestled Jean to the ground. Jean yelled, breaking the cadence of his prayer.

Marco wrapped his hands around his neck. Jean could not utter a word, try as he might. With each stutter his head became lighter and his vision narrowed.

“Ma-rco…” he breathed. “I… l-love… you… plea…”

His eyes were closing. Darkness was swallowing him and all he could see were Marco’s eyes. He had a close up view of those black eyes turning into the warm brown that Jean had become familiar with.

Suddenly, the pressure around his neck was gone and he was gasping. He coughed and turned on his knees as he struggled to breath again.

“Jean, finish the prayer,” Marco said. “Finish it, I can’t fight it anymore.”

Jean watched as he fell to the floor. He scrabbled for the Bible and finished the prayer. He had never read as fast as he did for that minute.

Marco jerked and screamed as if he were in an echochamber. It sounded like thousands were screaming with him. Jean dared to approach him again and held him through his violent thrashing.

“I love you. Please be okay.”

Crouched over Marco’s body, Jean cried into his chest. Now, he was speaking his own prayer.

“Please save him. He is no witch, no demon and, forgive me, Lord, but even if he were, I would love him all the same.”

Marco gasped. He opened his eyes. His brown eyes, unfocused, but warm.

“Jean,” he said. And he smiled. 


End file.
